


Tumble Down From Your Island To Mine

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Banter, Consensual Sex, Cultural Differences, Enemies to Lovers, Fantasy, First Meetings, Frottage, Grinding, Intercrural Sex, Large Cock, M/M, Magic, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Alternating, Size Difference, Worldbuilding, floating islands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Raz is having a no good pretty bad day, bound by magical geas and forced into working - sort of - for the Queen. It's not improved by the arrival of a mostly dead orc. At first, anyway.
Relationships: Beefy Orc Mage/Willowy Elf Warrior, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	Tumble Down From Your Island To Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinykari (meinterrupted)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/gifts).



> Includes a deliberate tense change part way

“Well fuck,” The one-eyed, immensely scarred old human spat a wodge of phlegm at her feet, “Who would have guessed it? Those who says all elves are pretty and dainty and whatnot don’t know _shit_. Somehow you’ve become even uglier than the last time I looked at you, stick.”

“Shut it,” Making a cursory show of cleaning his sword on the nearest soggy sort of brownish plants that more or less disintegrated into mush under the blade, Raz wiped his bloodied hands on the ruined remains of his tunic next, pissed that it had been semi-decent when he’d stolen it but, thanks to the fight, was now decidedly worse for wear. Shoving a palm over his messily cropped head next to clear off the slick of sweat and grimacing at the painful knot of _something_ best not investigating he found above an ear, he ran a critical eye over the corpses littering the clearing, looking without much hope for something to nick. They were a sorry lot, ramshackle piss-poor bastards not worth the trouble of skewering had they not thought it a grand idea to make an attempt at an ambush when Raz had been doing nothing more than sloping along at Yarra’s heel, groaning up at the motley mildew-coloured excuse for a sky above the jabbing accusatory fingers of the bare branches of the Queen’s forest out in the far east of the borderlands, swivelling the pinky finger he had stuck in one ear.

The Queen didn’t take kindly to bandits amongst the crap she called trees, whether they were close to her capital or not. And given that Yarra was her so-called champion and had pressed Raz into unwilling service – which was to say she’d plucked his head off the executioner’s block and got the Queen to agree to transfer his sentence into one of execrable servitude for the next half dozen years, with time taken off for good behaviour, which was a complete and utter crock of shit that a tiny deep down part of Raz just possibly sort of fractionally appreciated and clung to, while the rest of him fiercely resented – Anyway, given that Yarra had basically press-ganged him into being her flunky, Raz was bound to her by unbreakable magical geas – he could carve his heart out, or try to, and his corpse would still be yanked along behind her like a dog. As much as it vaguely amused Raz to think of this happening and just how _put upon_ Yarra would feel, he did still prefer the thought of living, at least partly because in doing so he could annoy the fuck out of her and be around to witness the result.

He was mostly sort of attached to his head too. You know, physically. He checked – yup, still on.

“Shit, stick, what do you know?” The surprise in Yarra’s tone made him groan to a halt, both arms flopping down to hang limply in front of him as he sagged, gazing roaming upwards again in search of mercy – or the executioner’s blade – up in the sky.

“Probably nothing,” He didn’t want to know either, but her silence was expectant and he failed to hold out, “ _What?_ ”

“This one’s still alive.”

Damn, to think a small part of him had dared hope for something interesting.

“Kill it then,” Dragging his gaze down, he found Yarra poking a limp blob of what had formerly been the great hulking body of some orc Raz totally didn’t remember being amongst the group of bandits with her toe. He rolled his eyes when it groaned and flailed a bit, mashing its face further into the muck at the foot of the tree where it lay, “Real simple like; looks like just a bit of a jab’ll do.”

“I don’t think so,” Shit, that was Yarra’s thinking voice. Rare as it was to hear, Raz knew it meant nothing good. He pulled an awful face back at her in reflexive near panic when she left off her poking to leer over at him, “I reckon you’re going to take this here one to the Queen.”

That was it. She was off her rocker. Finally cracked for good.

“ _Why?_ ” Fuck that for a laugh.

“Birthday gift from me to her Majesty. Via you. I got me shit to do out here still.”

Hell, the worst of it was Yarra was right in a way – it was the Queen’s birthday in three weeks or something like that and, as favourite, Yarra would be expected to provide a present of some kind or she might find herself facing the sort of fate she’d taken it upon herself to have Raz avoid – and if she went with the geas still active, he did too. Back before he’d forgotten all about it, Raz had been vaguely thinking something along the lines of a dress. Queen was a fae. Fae liked dresses, right. Even if Raz didn’t like any of the shit elves were ‘supposed’ to fucking like.

So maybe a mostly dead body would be better than some kind of floofy frock, who knew. Still, no way in hell was he participating. Carting that lump across half the country just so Yarra could get in the Queen’s pants. Which she wore under a dress. Or maybe not. Ah, who the fuck cared. It wasn’t like Yarra would be able to make him anyway, because of the geas.

“Fuck no. I ain’t doing that and _you can’t make me_ ,” Raz really, really should have known better than to say that. The expression of unholy glee that crossed the one-eyed woman’s ancient face made him shudder. 

“Shit on a stick, stick, I well can too,” Yarra said with something horribly much like dawning delight, “I can get rid of you for a few weeks _and_ see you deliver this here birthday present all wrapped up real nice like, and you can’t do a damned thing about it.”

The real fucking bloody irritating thing about it was that, for the most part, it turned out she was right.

~*~

Consciousness came back to Mercer in bits and pieces, so fragmented at first he was pretty sure he was dead. It would perhaps be preferable – he’d lost his family, fell off his island and onto the one passing way too far below, got lost in the huge mountain range the place seemed to be mostly composed off, just about got down from there without perishing and then got forced to take down some kind of fucking feral bear, before getting lost all over again in a bunch of fucking trees. He hadn’t eaten for over a week nor drunk anything except melted snow that tasted distinctly of piss, and that had been at least yesterday. Had been too out of it this morning to realise he was about to stumble right on top of some ragtag group of idiot humans with poky things all bundled behind a tree, waiting to leap out on some even more moronic idiots, and then got jabbed in the gut by the smallest, rattiest idiot of all with the pointiest thing. He hadn’t even been allowed the time to explain the mistake.

Sometimes he hated his life.

Much as now felt like it should be one of those times, Mercer was, he found, quite surprised to discover that he still had said life and was filled with an inexplicable rush of affection for it, a determination to cling to it with as much tenacity as he could and to protect it from any more freaking ridiculous little nightmare-like elven monstrosities with swords. It was with extreme displeasure therefore that, on groaning with extreme prejudice and hoisting himself resentfully over, he discovered the very same eleven monstrosity – as in, the smallest, rattiest idiot from earlier – standing over him next to the tree Mercer had nearly died beneath, blood-smeared hands planted on disturbingly slender hips, sneering down at Mercer like he was tempted to spit.

Mercer was frankly surprised when he didn’t. For all elves were hoity-toity useless wankers in his blessedly limited experience, the few skills they seemed to possess – if they could be called that – was the ability to look down their noses while being a fair sight shorter than orcs and to rustle up a disgusting amount of saliva. Mercer had never quite been able to understand how that seemed to sit quite all right with them alongside all the sanctimonious self-righteousness.

Sanctimonious bullshit, to put it even more accurately.

Anyway, all this was basically to say that when this decidedly unwanted apparition failed to hawk phlegm in Mercer’s direction, Mercer had to question his assessment of the creature’s species. Not a human, for sure. Maybe some sort of dwarf-slash-demon-troll?

“What the fuck even are you?” He attempted to say, but as it felt like a few teeth had been knocked out, it mostly emerged as a sort of growly moaning. Which was great – all orcs loved growly moaning, course they did. Came with being an orc and all. Not like there were better ways to communicate.

“What the fuck are _you_?” Was as much of an answer as Mercer got.

If the monstrosity kept on sneering like that, he was going to get terrible wrinkles in later life. If he made it that far. Flat on his back and prone as Mercer was, there was no question that he would tower over this little shit on standing. Could snap him like a twig too, pointy bit of cheap tarnished metal in the idiot’s hand and all. If he could manage to get up, that was.

Hell, the elf – or dwarf-slash-demon-troll – had majorly Gone Wrong. Cropped hair – cropped hair! Instead of those long fucking ridiculous hairdos that elves always seemed to have. It looked like it had probably been shorn off by the very pigsticker the idiot was holding, gravity-defying little dark tufts dotted about unevenly in between the ridges of ugly scars crisscrossing over the delicate skull, a bloodied snarl of something gross above a pointed ear. One eye the colour of piss and the other – ah, fuck. It was green, Mercer’s favourite colour. A very lovely green as well, incongruous set as it was in the pinched, spiteful face. The little shit’s nose had clearly been broken a few times and then not set properly, and his teeth were pointier than Mercer cared to consider ever coming close to any part of him and definitely not his dick.

And damn it, lying down prone with a sword pointed at his throat was not a good time to think about getting laid.

Or maybe it was. It _had_ been a long time after all and if Mercer was going to die, then he might as well go thinking about fucking. Or maybe about _being_ fucked or sucked or – no, no really, not that, he could see the monstrosity using those teeth to try to gnaw off his dick.

Still, the elf-dwarf-troll had that prettiness to his features behind the spite and blood and muck, and a willowy frame that just screamed eleven or potentially, if Mercer squinted, maybe fae – although surely no way would the latter descend from their airy temples above the clouds or wherever it was they resided in order to piss about on a floating island that appeared comprised of fucking immense mountains and creepy forest. Would ruin their image and all that.

Although – Although elves sure enough liked to consider their image too, at least in Mercer’s experience, and this one sure wasn’t doing that, unless the image he was going for was deranged.

Anyway, it was getting boring lying down here waiting for the monstrosity to grow some balls and decide whether to finish off the job killing him or not. Everyone knew that elves couldn’t keep their cocks in their pants, right? Or in the case of lady ones, then –

“For fuck’s sake,” Interrupting Mercer’s train of thought, the monstrosity rolled his mismatched eyes, scratched his arse, then turned his back on Mercer and stomped away. Mercer put his head up with a groan to ask _where the fucker thought he was fucking going_ , realised he didn’t care, told himself he was grateful to be left alone, and then heard the unmistakable sounds of the idiot taking a leak.

He dropped his head back down, groaning all over again. Gave in and flopped a hand out towards his friend-tree and got a feel for what scrap of magic he still had left wobbling feebly inside his stomach – who cared that mages were supposed to have their hearts filled with magic or whatever the flowery nonsense humans wrote in their fucking books; Mercer was an orc and his magic lived in his gut, thank you very much. He could feel a few little feeble sparks, just enough to drag under his control and join together with the sort of slow defiant spark deep inside the mostly dead looking tree.

Just like him, it was still alive when it probably shouldn’t be.

The whole forest felt like it trembled as Mercer dragged that life force inside him, forcing it to mix with his own. Couldn’t quite stop the spell after, got a few more trees as well, grimacing at the feel of them dying inside. _Shit_. So much for respecting nature and shit like that – his mum would be appalled. In honesty though, Mercer didn’t have much respect left, not after falling onto this shitty island and everything on it trying to kill him.

“What. The. Fuck. Was. That.”

Shit, Tiny And Angry was back. Cock packed back away, unfortunately. The bulge inside those awful once-velvet breeches – velvet! And fucking breeches! Who the fuck did this elf think he was kidding – looked reasonably worth investigating, at least for someone as horny as Mercer was increasingly finding himself. Sure, it was practically miniature in comparison to Mercer’s own cock, but then again what dick wasn’t small compared to an orc’s? Or so other orcs said. Mercer hadn’t had enough experience of cock or the wide variety of them no doubt out there to think this in complete fairness yet. Still, he reckoned the one tucked inside those unfortunate breeches would prove just the right size for sucking into his mouth between his fangs.

Who cared if he didn’t want teeth near his own dick; the monstrosity looked like one little nibble to his junk and he’d squeal most appealingly, wriggling and writhing and loving it as much as he no doubt hated it, furious that Mercer was the one doing such a thing to him. Because just imagine an orc sucking your dick, the horror! Or whatever.

After all, it wasn’t like an orc and an elf could ever consider being something as nonsensical as _friends_. Let alone anything else.

Letting out a heartfelt sigh, Mercer shoved himself up to his elbows and, before the little shit could poke him with that pigsticker again or evade, drew on his newly returned strength and speed and snagged the monstrosity round that far too slender waist.

~*~

Okay. _Okay_. As Raz had already oh so politely enquired, _What The Fuck_. He had expected to maybe have to take out an eye or two, no matter that he would fucking feel it himself – why thank you most kindly Yarra – not to be –

Not to be fucking _hugged_. If that’s what the hell it was.

What the fuck was wrong with this fucking giant of a mysteriously and freakishly revived orc? And – and was the bastard _laughing_? What the hell did he have to laugh about? Raz was supposed to be threatening him here! So what if he’d gotten a little side-tracked by the need to take a leak! Everyone had piss to sometime, right?

Too close to effectively stab the fucking jerk, Raz took to beating him around the head with the pommel. Shit, he’d never seen an orc with such a ridiculous mop of long curling hair. Really felt quite nice against Raz’s fingers as he did his utmost to beat the bastard into submission with the other hand, the strands all soft and silky. Damn it. Made him want to get his hands full of it and tug. To shove the bastard back down onto the forest floor and climb on top of him. Shit, Raz just bet the orc’s cock was _big_.

The chances of that seemed highly likely, given the bastard was fucking immense everywhere else. Two dopey fangs protruding out from the orc’s dumb mouth and all – stupid cute. Raz hated him, just as he hated the fact that his best efforts to bash that dumb skull in didn’t even seem to be making a dent.

“Come on, you.”

Damn it, the fucker talked. Common tongue even, though he then tried a couple of other languages, one all snorts and snarls – not orcish, Raz knew what that sounded like – and then an attempt at elvish so convoluted and awful on the vowels Raz was near howling in the attempt not to laugh.

“Shut it, you fucker, I’m killing you,” He let the bastard grapple him down regardless, the orc rolling out onto his back so Raz ended up on top. Which, shit, _wasn’t his plan_ – kneeling on that massive chest just brought home all the more just how overgrown the bastard was, big enough he could like as not just squish Raz between his massive fucking hands.

Hands that were almost gently closing over Raz’s hips and guiding him into sliding upwards on his knees towards the fucker’s massive mouth.

Okay. Okay. Okay okay okay – no, thinking that wasn’t helping. _Because What The Actual Fuck?_

“Just – just kneel there quietly, will you?” The orc got out, like Raz had any intention whatsoever of doing that – especially if asked to by a fucking orc – and cupped those huge hands around Raz’s ass, lifted his stupid giant head –

And started nuzzling his nose right against Raz’s cock.

Raz _screeched_. He also quite possibly dropped his sword – damn it, damn it, _fuck_. But the stupid orc wasn’t trying to attack him, although it took Raz a furiously breathless few seconds to realise this; wasn’t biting at him – which depending on the biting was sort of a pity – but was just huffing and puffing and mouthing at his cock. And his cock, independent of Raz’s brain, was really sort of interested in this development.

“Fuck, you’re small,” Stupid orc stupid went and commented, so the instant in which Raz had considered responding in a way that was almost appreciative dissolved and vanished into nothing, and he got on with gripping those two handfuls of the fucker’s hair and tugging hard as he could, and into trying to strangle the bastard with his knees.

Didn’t work. Of course it didn’t. Damn it. Just had the stupid orc stupid chuckling against Raz’s cock and the vibrations of it were maddening, as was the silken feeling of that hair in his hands.

“Getting bigger though,” The orc next commented – fuck but Raz hated him, even as he thrust his hips inwards to rub his hardening cock against that massive chin and mouth. Might as well make the best of a bad situation, right? So long as his dick got nowhere near those fangs.

Ugh. Much as he would really rather like to shut the bastard up and choke him on his cock, the fucker’s mouth was just _too big_ – without a whole lot more trust than Raz was feeling towards him, which was to say zero – and Raz had no desire to get his dick chomped. Had that happen metaphorically – not literally, thank fuck – with Yarra enough times already.

“Shut the fuck up,” As such Raz just informs the orc, squirms hard against those hands in a blatant hint to be let go, and grinds down on the bastard’s chest when his wishes go disregarded.

“No, I don’t think I will actually,” The fucking too-good-looking-for-his-own-good fucker has the gall to just squint at him.

“Not going to shut up?” Raz has to confess the desire to be able to do something about it. To make the bastard shut up. “Or not going to –” _Let me go_.

No. No way in hell. Saying such a thing smacks far too much of vulnerability and Raz _ain’t fucking that_. And it’s not as if he could get far anyway, is it, thank you for nothing bloody Yarra.

“Not going to?” Massive fingers are all but kneading Raz’s admittedly bony ass, “Not got much meat on you, have you?”

So Yarra’s more than one made a point of comparing Raz to the perfectly-adequate-sword she insists on calling a stick – so what? No need for this guy to rub Raz’s nose in their size difference. Even if he does seem more invested in rubbing the crack of Raz’s ass through those breeches he stole, those huge fingers enthusiastic enough for the feeling to go straight to Raz’s cock.

“Fuck you.”

“Charming,” The orc’s eyes are big enough Raz can see every millimetre they move as they roll.

“Yeah,” Raz thrusts down harder against the idiot’s chest – damned fucker is so broad his thighs are aching a bit, plonked on top and straining to straddle him as he is – and there’s not really enough traction for him to be able to get himself off. Mostly he’s just squashing his balls. Maybe would have been better risking those fangs and rubbing himself on the bastard’s face. “Yeah, I am.” Raz can be charming, at that. If he wants to. Which – usually, nah.

“Yeah right,” Settling those hands on Raz’s shoulders, the orc basically lifts him up and resettles him lower down on that big body, a show of easy strength that doesn’t make Raz’s cock jerk at all. And hey, he’s more or less sitting on top of the orc’s cock now and _damn_ but it’s even bigger than he’d let himself hope. “Hey Charming,” Unfortunately the bastard is still talking, “I’m Mercer.”

“Do whatever you want; I ain’t begging you for mercy,” Raz snorts, too busy wiggling his hips to line his own cock up with that great big one, too enthusiastic about the sheer size of the hot hard shaft to be too very bitter about how small his own body is in comparison. Fucking orc is just overgrown, after all.

“Oh, you will,” Fucking-Ain’t-Called-Mercy has the temerity to chuckle and rest a palm against Raz’s back to keep him in place as he grinds almost carefully up against Raz and almost bucks him off regardless, cocks rubbing together roughly through their clothes.

“Shit going to stick you with my sword if you fucking drop me,” A bead of sweat rolls down from Raz’s temple, “Hold up a second.” Gripping that cock around the base and privately marvelling at how he can barely get a handful of it, Raz squirms against the hold of that hand until he’s able to get both their clothes undone enough for access. Then he’s tugging Fucking Mercy’s stupid huge cock out to gawk just a bit at it, hotly aware of the bastard opening dark eyes up to squint at him smugly. “Fucker,” Raz gives it another squeeze in objection, and swipes him thumb over the bead of precome that wells up at the tip. A taste proves that it’s “Not bad.”

“Get those fucking fangs of yours anywhere near my cock, elf –” The orc’s body tenses gratifyingly beneath Raz, those dark eyes narrowing.

“Oh hush your fussing,” Raz gives him his nastiest, fangiest smile just for that, and pumps that cock a bit, two-handed, “I could make it good for you.” He licks his teeth, making a show of pondering even as he jerks the bastard off harder, “Could. But won’t.”

“Oh screw you,” Mercy’s eyes open back up seemingly just so he can roll them, and then he’s rolling the both of them too, the trees whirling around and upside down – no, that’s just the bastard getting Raz onto the leafy ground without a word to ask Raz’s preferences on the matter, huge hand pinning him facedown amongst the mulch – he spits and swears – and then dragging his breeches further down.

“You fucking bloody fucking –” Raz flails for his sword, flails at the sheer indignity of it, and then shuts up when that huge cock rubs really quite wonderfully along the length of his ass.

A small silence between them, the orc bracing his large body over the small elf as Raz pushes back up against him.

“You going to – going to fuck me then?” Raz enquires after a bit and swallows, because – fuck yeah but, considering the pure difference in size between them in every way, it’s not going to be a fun ride at first. And he’s been ridden raw before and not enjoyed it, either.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Mercy says off-hand after another little pause, as if he totally hadn’t just read the tension in Raz’s back – because _what_ tension, there wasn’t anything of that – and then he’s tucking his massive cock in between Raz’s thighs, Raz huffing but obligingly tightening them around it, and then fucking him instead like that, blunt head of the glans bumping into and dragging over his balls and perineum in a way that really shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Raz grunts and pushes back and curses when he can’t support his own weight enough to get a hand down under him.

“Bas – bastard!”

“Hmm?” Mercy sounds – sounds fucking mildly amused, once he’s groaned deep enough the trees seem to shake around them and fucking well come all over Raz’s back, the jerk.

“You bloody fucking _bastard_ ,” Raz might actually have to maybe go as far as to _wash his stolen clothes_. Fuck.

“Ahh, you love it,” Mercy claims, which isn’t true at all – probably – and flips Raz over to jerk him off with neat, quick strokes, Raz barely able to fling his hands up to grab hold of the bastard’s wrists before he’s coming all over the fucker’s chest and chin.

So he feels a bit better about things after that.

“Didn’t love nothing about it at all,” He still claims, once he’s flopped back down in the mulch after, really kind of thirsty and pleasantly kind of tired.

“So – you did?” Lying next to him, Mercy props his chin on his fist, smearing some of the come. The crook of his stupid fangs making him look dumb and cute enough that Raz almost wants to kiss him for a moment. “That’s what you meant, right, Charming? If you _didn’t_ love _nothing_ , then you must have loved something.” He reaches out and cups his hand over Raz’s softening cock before Raz can stop him. Well – he fails to stop him, anyway. “Maybe loved it a whole lot.”

“I did not, you fucking shit,” Raz pushes his cock up against that broad palm anyway.

~*~

So. Here they are.

Mercer can’t help but feel that something’s changed between them. Well, definitely something’s changed – he hasn’t had an orgasm that good in ages and that was just from a bit of frottage with the feisty little fucker. Charming has more strength in him than his twig-like figure implies. Make Mercer wonder if he might actually be able to work his cock inside that admittedly appealing body without just snapping the little shit.

Because for some reason – and this might well just be the afterglow talking – he genuinely kind of likes the little fucker just a bit. _Just_ a bit. Probably it’s just the fucker rubbing off on him – you know, rather than the opposite. And somewhat like mould.

Charming’s totally failed the mention the geas Mercer has revived enough to sense binding them together. Funny that. He could go wherever he feels like on this damned floating tree-hell hole island and the little shit would essentially be dragged along.

Really though. Really, while Mercer mostly just wants to kind of go home and steal his mum’s cooking and maybe read that book he got halfway through, the rest of him wants a nap and then to have sex with Charming again and maybe find out if those teeth part into a mouth nice enough to wrap around his cock.

He really does suspect that, if he can convince the shit not to bite, that Charming’s mouth really might be worth putting to such a use. And who knows. If it’s not on his cock or – or maaaybe, if Mercer’s feeling adventurous, maybe even _on_ it – maybe he _would_ like it if Charming bites. 

Maybe he might well like it a whole lot. And he’s really rather like to get his own mouth on that little cock of Charming’s as well. Fiddle with it a whole lot more and get Charming _properly_ wound up. See what that one pretty green eye looks like as Mercer drives the elf out of his mind.

So yeah. A beginning. Also they should probably do something to get rid of that geas at some point. Little shit as Charming may be, Mercer can’t say it sits right with him to have anyone magically bound to him – or anyone bound to anyone, really – like that. Whatever Charming might have gone and done.

“You know, you’re meant to be the Queen’s birthday present,” Charming is sighing, picking himself up enough only to promptly flop over Mercer’s chest. Plucking at the orc’s tunic, an expression caught between horniness and reluctance on his pinched face. Or maybe that’s just flatulence. “Reckon she’s going to unwrap you?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Mercer can’t say he really likes the sound of that. Something else to get out of before maybe just possibly taking Charming home for dinner, “Hey, you got a name?”

Charming gets out a whole mouthful of reluctant grumbling, plucking at Mercer’s clothes all the more passive-aggressively – better than the pigsticker, Mercer supposes – before ending with a grouchy “Raz.”

“Short for Razor Face, right?” Mercer can’t help but snort. So the jury’s still out on whether the little shit really is an elf or an elf-dwarf-troll-thing. With a nice little cock and a scrappy little body and one pretty green eye and another that doesn’t really look like the colour of piss.

“Short for Fuck Off,” Raz leans up further as if coming to a sudden decision and kisses him, careful to avoid any lips slicing on anyone’s fangs, so hey.

Mercer supposes he can work with that.


End file.
